


black cats are good luck

by YaelaTheWordsmith



Series: the black cats AU [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, Crushes, Daichi and Asahi are roommates, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moderate Self Worth Issues, Urban Magic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaelaTheWordsmith/pseuds/YaelaTheWordsmith
Summary: Kuroo and Daichi are students at - you guessed it - a college of magic. This would have absolutely nothing to do with the story of how they started liking each other and finally got together - if it wasn't for the fact that the fairly big secret Kuroo's hiding is accidentally revealed on their first date.Or, Daichi finds out what Kuroo really is, Kuroo panics, and Daichi has to get the boy he likes out from under the fridge.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Series: the black cats AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590508
Comments: 32
Kudos: 160





	black cats are good luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyWisteria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWisteria/gifts).



> TOA HBD PT 2
> 
> rip this needs way more fixing but here take it i'll do it tomorrow

Daichi notices Kuroo Tetsurou on the third day of his first semester, in a cafe just across from the college gates and therefore a cafe perpetually crowded with twenty-somethings who’re there for everything from the (admittedly quite good) coffee to the (actually excellent) sandwiches to just good company.

Daichi, sitting in a corner and nursing a glass of iced tea, is feeling unaccustomedly, petulantly skeptical about the last one.

It’s been four days since he’s arrived at Tokyo Mahou Daigaku, since he hugged his parents and siblings goodbye and started unpacking his bags to set up his flat and did his utter, utter best not to cry. His flatmate had turned out to also be from Miyagi, a big, soft-spoken guy who’d stammered while introducing himself and fallen over himself to help Daichi with his heavier bags.

It’s only been four days, and orientation week is far more exhausting than it has any right to be. He spent an hour sniffling in the bathroom yesterday when he hung up the phone with his mom. There are people already talking about honours projects and there are people already planning parties, and he knows none of them. He eats his meals with his flatmate, he makes polite small talk with a host of strangers with Tokyo accents and warm small talk with anybody with a Miyagi accent, and tries not to think about how he feels like he doesn’t fit in anywhere, with anyone.

And this guy, _this guy_. He’s got legs like a giraffe that are sheathed in slim black jeans, he’s got hair that looks like he went to the same salon as Einstein, he’s got on a dark green tank and a black-and-red checked flannel open over that that’s slipping off one shoulder but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s leaning back, giraffe legs stretched out easily, one arm laid along the back of the sofa, listening to his friends with a grin. The guy next to him has silver-grey streaks that are just arresting enough to be on the cool side of eccentric, bright owl-eyes, and he’s waving his arms wildly in the air to illustrate the point he’s making the rest of the group, some five or six other girls and guys.

 _Combat mage,_ Daichi thinks, _he’ll be wearing leather jackets and silver chains within a year of graduating. And the other guy’s thing is probably potions._

The cadence of probably-future-combat-mage boy’s voice rises, and the group laughs at what he’s said, temporarily drowning out the music playing from the cafe speakers. Daichi flinches at giraffe-boy’s smile, at the white flash of his teeth, and looks away, sipping at his drink angrily. He is not doing this, he is _not_ going to be that newbie from the country who falls for some city kid in his first month and fucking _pines_ , he’s not going to be that sterotype. Fuck giraffe legs and his stupid smile, it isn’t even that cute -

Daichi makes the mistake of looking back over. There’s a lull in the conversation as giraffe-boy speaks for the first time since Daichi entered the cafe, lilting and teasing and the corner of his mouth curling up, and the group bursts into laughter again while combat-boy pouts, reaching out to punch his friend on the shoulder.

Daichi snaps his gaze away, furious all over again. Fuck him and his stupid smile and the easy, confident grace in every line of his body, god. Fuck him and his group of close friends and the way he seems like a third year, not a first year, the way he looks so damn comfortable in his skin when Daichi feels like he’s itching to crawl out of his own.

Daichi drains his cup, tosses it in the paper trash, and strides out of the cafe. Asahi looks up in surprise when he slams the door of their flat open, sitting in the middle of a storm of cardboard boxes and packing tape and chalk for protective circles and scuffed out marks of badly drawn protective circles.

“Hi,” Daichi announces.

“Hi?”

“Volleyball tryouts are in two hours. We’re going. And before we go, we’re getting this flat in perfect order. We’re getting our shit _together_ , Asahi.”

Asahi blinks, and then he grins. “You got it!”

⸶⸷

Tetsurou notices Sawamura Daichi during the second week of college, at the first volleyball club practice of the semester. It’s the first practice match. They have Oikawa on their team, a blessing, and Yakkun, so the rallies shouldn’t be lasting as long as they are - Yakkun keeps the ball in the air, Oikawa sets it up for the perfect attack, Kuroo blocks any attempt at offense the other team makes. Foolproof.

But the ball goes back and forth, back and forth, and sure the other guys have Bokuto, a couple of good wing spikers, a pretty decent setter, but that isn’t it, there’s something else -

It clicks after the third point - it’s the Miyagi guy, the one who’d been a captain in high school. He’s not outstanding, but he just doesn’t let the ball drop, and he’s the one who usually receives Oikawa’s serve if it isn’t picked up by the libero. His moves are easy, practiced, and the strength evident in his arms and legs indicate that he’s been doing this a long time.

His team loses, though, and Tetsurou notices how he goes to every one of his teammates and thanks them for a good game despite a distinct shiftiness to the set of his shoulders. He’s uncomfortable, Tetsurou realizes, he doesn’t know a lot of people, but he’s still trying.

 _Dogged determination,_ he thinks, amused. _Cursebreaker for sure._

“That guy,” Oikawa mutters over his shoulder as they head away from the court for cooldown stretches, “he could be an asset in real games, if he can attack as well as he defends.”

Tetsurou makes a sound of agreement, watching as Sawamura helps the guy with the beard out with his stretches. The guy winces, muttering something, and Sawamura laughs a little, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Oi, Kuroo, you gonna help me or just stand there spacin’ out?” Yakkun snaps from behind him, and Kuroo rolls his eyes.

“Coming, coming, jeez.”

He settles his hands on Yakkun’s shoulders, thinking of how he could possibly cultivate the guy’s acquaintance. Volleyball is one thing, obviously, but if he’s a cursebreaker then they should share at least, like, half their courses -

“ _Ow_ \- Kuroo, asshole, you’re pushing too hard!”

⸶⸷

They do end up sharing half their courses, to Daichi’s chagrin and Kuroo’s delight, and Kuroo makes it a point to settle in the seat next to Daichi’s with a grin and an obnoxious wiggle of his eyebrows in every single one of them. Daichi makes it a point to give him the coldest shoulder he can manage - which is not very cold, because he can get riled up way too easily if someone manages to push the right buttons, and Kuroo seems to be on a mission to find all of them.

He’s not malicious, though, Daichi’ll give him that. It’s all in good fun, and Kuroo knows where the line is. It becomes . . . easy, it becomes comfortable, snapping at him when he steals food from Daichi’s plate and rolling his eyes as he argues that older runes are actually inherently more powerful than modern ones (like hell they are, Daichi’s mom is a runeweaver and she can create runes ten times more powerful than those musty old symbols). They’re a good pair on the court too, they’ve got a good dynamic, and he’ll be damned if he knows how but it’s suddenly two months into the semester and Kuroo Tetsurou is his . . . friend. They’re friends. Kuroo lends him Magical Substances notes, Kuroo knows when his birthday is, Kuroo texts him hellish memes in class and laughs like a hyena at the look on Daichi’s face when he sees them, Kuroo rags him and races him to lunch and play wrestles with him after volleyball practice and listens to him talk about home.

It’s . . . good. Daichi likes him, his quick quips, his sharp eyes, his cool head, his casual kindnesses, and Kuroo seems to like hanging out with him too. He starts to collect bits and pieces about Kuroo - he’s a day scholar, his house isn’t nearby but his aunt’s is and he’s staying there, he’s lived with his dad since he was thirteen, he is in fact a Potions major and had apparently (infuriatingly) pegged Daichi’s major before they’d even started talking just as easily as Daichi had pegged his, he has a childhood friend called Kenma who’s a year younger, he and Yaku Morisuke went to the same school and used to hate each other’s guts, he’s not a fan of chocolate and is too big a fan of oversweet coffee, he doesn’t tend to wake up early but when he does he can spend an hour just watching the sun come up, he took violin lessons but can play the guitar better, he sings and he sings beautifully.

They sit together in class most days, with Asahi and Yaku and sometimes Oikawa, if Oikawa happens to feel like it. They usually eat lunch at the same table. Kuroo drags him out to parties once every couple of weeks, he drags Kuroo to study group every couple of weeks, and they push each other to practice extra enough that Asahi has to tell them to stop more often than not. Daichi’s automatic greeting for Kuroo now is a quick smack to the back of the head, and Kuroo tends to duck on instinct whenever he sees Daichi approaching.

It’s good. Things are good. Both he and Asahi have settled, they have a group of friends now, and the hole homesickness was burning in his chest feels like it’s closed over. And Kuroo’s smile is still unfairly attractive, and so is his voice, and so is the Tokyo slang that slips out sometimes, but it’s a crush Daichi can deal with. They’re good friends, it’s a relationship Daichi doesn’t want to jeopardise, and he can deal. It’s not the first time a pretty boy has caught his eye, and it won’t be the last, and Kuroo, the dork, has somehow managed to fool enough people into thinking he’s cool that he has a sizable group of people who think he’s hot, who ask him out, who flirt with him. Kuroo doesn’t date them, but he flirts back with them and laughs with them and texts them, so Daichi shrugs and resigns himself to teasing Kuroo mercilessly about it all. It’s fine. He doesn’t really mind, honestly.

Until one night, when Kuroo’s convinced him to visit a bar nearby where they don’t card. They go with Bokuto and Yaku and Yamagata, who Daichi still doesn’t really know very well but who seems like a pretty cool guy. Daichi’s sitting at a table, listening to Bokuto and Yaku try to shout over each other telling a story about Kuroo’s disastrous attempt to woo a third year when he was in first year of high school. Yamagata is snickering, and Kuroo has gone to the bar, red-faced, to get another drink because _I don’t need to hear you tell this story for the hundredth time, screw both you assholes._

“- and then he hands over the flowers, okay, these fucking plastic flowers -”

“- and she’s all ‘Kuroo-kun, sorry but did you actually take this from some shitty ‘50 Ways To Make A Confession Perfect’ type article -”

“- and he goes _brick_ red because that’s _exactly what he did_ , and she _fucking knows_ , and-”

Yamagata bursts out laughing, and Daichi, absently holding his glass up, presses the rim to his mouth to hide his smile. _Poor guy_ , he’s thinking, and he glances over to the bar to see if Kuroo is coming back any time soon because it doesn’t sound like the story is anywhere near done yet, and -

\- and Kuroo is looking back at him, one elbow leaning on the counter, an odd smile settled on his mouth. An . . . oddly soft smile. Daichi raises an eyebrow, suddenly very aware of his pulse in his throat, and Kuroo shakes his head a little before turning around to speak to the bartender.

Daichi can’t really focus entirely on the story after that, even when Kuroo comes back to the table, and it’s after that night that he thinks that maybe things could shift.

⸶⸷

Sawamura hops up onto the arm of the park bench, balancing with unfair ease. “So you liked it?”

Tetsurou chooses to settle on the other end of the bench, legs stretched out and one arm draped over the back, looking up into Sawamura’s twilight shadowed face and trying not to think about how cute that little hop was, how cute Sawamura is in general when he’s loose and relaxed and his eyes are all soft and smiley. “It was pretty good, I thought, yeah.”

“Mmm.” Sawamura carefully places one foot in front of the other, walking down the arm of the bench, then turns to park his butt on the back of the bench, feet planted firmly just next to Tetsurou’s. “I didn’t expect that kind of depth from the story, given the synopsis. The cinematography was pretty damn great, too.”

“You know about cinematography?”

“There was a guy a year younger than me in school, a pretty good friend, he wants to be a director when he gets older. I ended up picking up a lot of stuff from him.”

“Oh yeah? What did you notice?”

“Okay, for one, you know that scene on the ship when the typhoon hits, and she’s on the deck of the ship and the camera starts at her feet and pans upward to the sky, and there’s that ray of sun, right, because -”

Tetsurou lays his head on the back of the bench and watches the dimple in Sawamura’s right cheek flash in and out of sight as he waxes lyrical. He’s listening, he even asks questions, but he has to keep pulling himself out of the gravity of Sawamura’s dancing hands, the way he winces when he realizes his voice has gotten too loud, the way his nose wrinkles when the perfume of a passerby is too strong.

It’s maybe ten minutes later that Sawamura catches his gaze and stops, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I kind of got caught up in it -”

“It’s fine,” Tetsurou laughs, waving a hand. “I liked listening. I learned a couple things I didn’t know before, actually.”

“Yeah, well.” Sawamura looks away, a tinge of red to his cheeks. “Uh, what did you like about it?”

“Mm, I liked the characters. Well written, well designed, and it wasn’t just all about the protagonist, you know? The story explored all their arcs, even the grey characters and the crow shifter. Like, there was a delicacy to it even though it’s supposed to be this heavy handed action movie . . .”

They talk for a long time, about the movie and the actors and classes and more, too many things to keep track of. It’s easy to talk and easier to listen, somehow comfortable like they’ve known each other for years instead of a few months. The sun sets, the lights in the park come on, washing out the purple and rose sunset, and then the stars start to come out. The park clock is striking eight when there’s a lull in the conversation, a few minutes where they just sit in companionable silence.

Tetsurou breaks it first.“It’s too bad the rest of the gang couldn’t make it today,” he says lightly, glancing at Sawamura from under his eyelashes.

Sawamura just grins, propping his chin on his fist, and says, “Yeah, but you’re not as bad company as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m honoured,” Tetsurou says, grinning back, gathering his courage. “Do I get a second date then?”

Sawamura blinks, like he hadn’t expected this direct attack, and red steals up his cheeks. “Uh - this - I didn’t - I wasn’t sure that’s what this was, but, I mean, I’d like that. Yeah.”

Tetsurou sits up straight. “You weren’t sure, but you were hoping?”

Sawamura, the bastard, he pauses for a second, and then he shifts forward and taps Tetsurou lightly under the chin, smiling in a way that makes Tetsurou certain his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

“Yeah, I was, actually. Were you?”

“Oh my god, _so_ much,” Tetsurou says in a rush, not caring that his face is probably the colour of a tomato. “Dude, I didn’t know if I should say anything, but I wanted this to be a date so badly, and -”

Sawamura laughs, eyes bright, and Tetsurou actually falls a little bit in love. Just a little bit.

“Wanna have dinner at my place?” he says. “You can cook, or we can order in.”

“Hey, I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to order your guest around like that!”

“I think I get a free pass if I happen to be dating the guest. Which is apparently what I’m doing, as of today evening.”

“Okay, one, aren’t you supposed to be even more polite if you’re dating the guest, and two, does this mean we’re, uh, boyfriends now, because -”

Sawamura just gets off the bench and gives him that goddamn smile. “Are we?”

“I - I mean, only if you - do you want - “

“Aww, someone’s flustered, how cute!”

Tetsurou splutters, and Sawamura starts walking with a teasing look tossed over his shoulder. “Let’s get home and figure it out, yeah?”

So they walk the couple of kilometers to Daichi’s flat, managing to slide back into easy conversation after a while even though Tetsurou’s heart is kind of floating in his chest. It floats even more when Daichi happens to mention that Asahi is not, in fact, home that night, and won’t be until after 10:30. Several different scenarios chase themselves around Tetsurou’s head in the space of a few seconds, most of which have him embarrassing himself spectacularly, a couple of which have him cuddling with Sawamura on the couch or something while they watch a movie, and one of which has him being responsible for the best makeout session Sawamura’s ever experienced, which, okay, it’s probably unlikely, but still a possibility if the right moment happens -

“We’re here,” Sawamura says, pulling his keys out.

“Cool,” Tetsurou says, shaking himself out of it. “I’m kinda looking forward to seeing your place.”

“It’s nothing special, trust me. The coolest thing we have is a minifridge which Yaku’s mom donated to us -” Sawamura pushes the door open, and gestures for Tetsurou to head in first. “- and it uses up way more power than it should, honestly -”

Tetsurou steps into the genkan, and that’s when the whole night goes to utter, utter shit.

⸶⸷

It happens quietly. There’s a soft _poof_ , so soft that Daichi barely registers it, and he’s still talking as he turns around from closing the door. He turns, and blinks, and looks down, and the scruffy black cat looks up at him from the collar of Kuroo’s navy polo with equal astonishment.

Astonishment that is rapidly turning into horror.

“Kur-”

The cat _bolts_.

It goes from sprawled out on the floor to a flash of black in less than half a second, and Daichi can only watch it speed past in shock. The cat scrambles over the couch, skids across the floor on the other side, and dives into Asahi’s bedroom.

“What the fuck,” Daichi says to the empty room, his mind spinning at a hundred kilometers an hour. “What the _fuck_.”

Kuroo is a shifter. A cat shifter. But to shift right now, of all times - it hadn’t seemed like he’d meant to, had it happened by accident or - ?

"Oh - _shit -_ ” Daichi presses his palm to his mouth as realization dawns, his heart sinking like a stone. Both his and Asahi’s parents had insisted on them setting up at least rudimentary protection circles for their flat - _New city, new house, you never know when a ghoul might wander in, or you might even get cursed, and anyway you both are protection magic majors, it’ll be good practice!_ \- and he and Asahi had ended up making them a little more intricate than they strictly had to be. And Kuroo, Kuroo is the very definition of ‘entering with false form/a being pretending to be more than it is’, and so the third circle must have activated and forced him to shift. God, he must be terrified - shifters are cagey about their powers under the best of circumstances for good reason, and having his identity stripped bare like that -

Daichi hurries to Asahi’s room and nudges the door open, apologies already queuing up on his tongue, and spots a quivering lump behind the long curtains. He kneels, reaching out gingerly with one hand. “Kuroo, hey, I’m so sorry. We’d - we’d set up some protection circles, and I didn’t realise -”

Kuroo barrels out from behind the curtain when Daichi’s fingers are only an inch away from touching him, and Daichi whips around to see the tip of his tail vanish out the door.

It’s July, and the flat is on the first floor, and so the windows are kept tightly closed whenever no one’s home so that they don’t come back to find a floor crawling with bugs. This means that, logically, Kuroo has to be somewhere in the flat, because cats can’t open doors and Kuroo’s clothes are still lying crumpled in the genkan. Daichi searches, and searches, but the clock hits 9:00, 9:15, 9:30, and he still can’t find Kuroo. He checks under the couch, all the cupboards, and all the desks thrice. He pulls back the curtains, even lifts up the rugs, he scours every high place he can possibly think of. No black cat.

He sits on the couch with a sigh, trying to think of somewhere he hasn’t looked yet, and his gaze falls on the tiny storeroom, where they keep some food and the minifridge. The door is very slightly open.

“Come on, please be here,” he mutters, hurrying over and switching on the light inside. There’s nothing on the shelves except their store of instant ramen, but Daichi gets to his knees and peers under the fridge and there. Kuroo is cowering under the fridge, pressed as far back into the corner as he can manage, yellow eyes wide open as he stares at Daichi.

“Hi,” Daichi says softly. “Finally found you.”

Kuroo doesn’t even blink, though he’s shaking, the tip of his tail twitching.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about the circles. It really just . . . slipped my mind entirely. It usually doesn’t make a difference to most people who come over, but I guess you’re not most people -” He winces. “Fuck, that came out wrong. Look, can you come out and change back? I’ll modify the circle so you can stay human, and - and we can talk about this?”

Kuroo blinks, and shifts back even further.

“Kuroo, please, come on. You can’t stay there forever. I’m so, so sorry, I can’t imagine how it felt, being forced to - to shift like that. I can make it up to you, I’ll do my best, I -” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “You probably didn’t want people knowing, but I swear, it doesn’t make a difference to me. Asahi will be home soon, though, and if you’re still here, like this -”

Kuroo mewls faintly, turning his head away. Daichi’s heart clenches.

“You have to come out at some point, Kuroo, please, please come out, come on, I swear it’s okay -”

Daichi begs, he pleads, he tells Kuroo it’s okay over and over again, but it’s half an hour later and his knees are aching from kneeling and Kuroo’s stopped shaking but he’s still refusing to come out, still refusing to even look up. Daichi feels like a broken record player, and he doesn’t even know how much of what he’s saying is getting through. So he gets up, grabs Kuroo’s clothes from the genkan, tosses them in front of the fridge, and goes to sit on the couch with his head in his hands and regret heavy in his chest.

He’ll wait.

⸶⸷

Tetsurou moves carefully, trying to slide his jeans on without moving too much. Belt and shirt are both worn slowly, slowly enough that the belt buckle doesn’t make a sound and the shirt barely rustles as he slips it over his head. He makes sure he has everything - phone, wallet, college ID - and takes a deep breath.

He doesn’t know where Sawamura is waiting, he doesn’t know how long the circle will give him before it forces him to shift again, so he has to make his move fast, he has to get out before things get even worse, if that’s possible. God -

He gives himself a moment to run a hand through his hair, clutching it tight. Fuck, it had been going so well, he’d been spending a great evening with this great boy and had even been hoping for a kiss before the night was over and now - and now -

Now Sawamura knows, he knows what Tetsurou is, and Tetsurou knows, objectively, that he’s not - wrong. He’s not what the world says he is. He is not - all of that, everything they say -

_\- they’re all impulsive, less intelligent, less rational, they get a little too familiar with animals sometimes when they shift, they’re always either dominant or submissive but either way they’re really great in bed, too dependent on their instincts, they don’t mind if you keep them on a leash if you know what I mean -_

He is _not_ that. No shifter he knows is - any of that. It’s fetishization and ostracisation by communities that have looked down on them for centuries, by mages and charmers and sirens who persecuted them and burned them alive and hunted them down. But that’s what they’re told, over and over again, and it settles softly in the heart like snow, over the years. And now he’s trying not to cry in the house of the boy he likes, because he even he can’t fully believe the good things, the fair things, the kind things his parents and Kenma have told him over and over again instead of the cold words in his heart, and if he can’t, why should Sawamura ? What reason would Sawamura ever have to believe anything other than what he’s seen in the movies - when almost no one else ever has before?

He takes a long, shuddering breath, steels himself, and bolts.

He slams the door open and _runs_ , the front door is right there and Sawamura is sitting on the couch, head snapping up in shock, but he can make it, he can make it, he’s almost there -

“Kuroo!”

There’s a hand on his arm, but he yanks it out of Sawamura’s grip without even looking and lunges for the door. If he can just get out, if he can just get away, he can deal with it. He can avoid Sawamura on campus, it won’t be fun, but he can do it, and he’ll just have to pray that Sawamura doesn’t go around telling people -

Sawamura ducks under his outstretched arm before he can pull the door open and shoves him in the chest, hard. Tetsurou hadn’t expected it, and he stumbles back. They look at each other for a moment, panting. Tetsurou looks away first, trying to get his breath under control, trying to swallow the rising, terrified tears.

_Say it. Say every single thing you were thinking. ‘You should have warned me’, ‘I wouldn’t have been mad, but . . .’ , ‘Look, I don’t judge, but I can’t date someone who’s, you know . . .’, I’ve heard it all before, all of it, just say it already -_

“Hey.” Sawamura’s voice is quiet. “Kuroo.”

Tetsurou closes his eyes, waiting for it.

Warm hands settle on his shoulders, squeeze briefly, and slide up to cup his neck on either side. Tetsurou’s eyes fly open, and he looks at Sawamura in disbelief. Sawamura’s trying to smile, but his eyebrows are furrowed and he’s looking at Tetsurou with a kind of pained, searching intensity.

“God, don’t look at me like that,” Sawamura says, his thumbs stroking the skin of Tetsurou’s throat gently, his voice shaking. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” It slips out, and Sawamura’s eyes tighten.

“Yeah. You being a shifter-” Tetsurou flinches, and Sawamura’s fingers curl in a little harder. “It should have been something you decided to tell me. Not something you were forced to reveal. It shouldn’t have happened like this, and I’m sorry that my carelessness was what caused it. I removed the circle, it’s -”

“But now you know, right?” Tetsurou laughs, broken, the tears finally sliding down his cheeks. “Now you know what I am. And nobody will even blame you for - for backing off, for leaving or whatever, once they know why, that I’m -”

“Stop it, Kuroo,” Sawamura says, his voice raw. “Stop - saying these things, stop _looking_ at me like that - “

“Like what?” Tetsurou grips Sawamura’s wrists hard, his voice rising. “Like _what_?”

“Like I’m going to cut your heart out any second now, like you’d stand there and fucking let me!”

That shuts Tetsurou up. Sawamura’s hands slide up into his hair, and pull him down, and Tetsurou goes. He buries his face in Sawamura’s shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist, and lets the tears out. And Sawamura, Sawamura kisses the side of his head, and strokes through his hair, and murmurs “You’re okay, it’s okay,” into his ear over and over again until he can almost start to believe it. Sawamura holds him tight, and lets him cry, and Tetsurou thinks he’s maybe never been this grateful for anyone in his life.

“I thought,” he says, sniffling, “I thought you’d -”

“I’m insulted,” Sawamura says, teasing and gentle. “You think I’d let go of a great catch like you that easily?”

Tetsurou snorts into his shirt. “Sawamura, I know I act all cool and shit, but -”

“But you’re a dumbass, and a nerd, and I saw you trip over your own ankle once.” Sawamura’s fingers are skimming soothingly over the back of his neck, just above his collar. “And you’re smart as hell, and your sleep schedule is trash, and you’re kind to everyone, and your laugh is terrible, and you can light up the whole room when you walk in, and you rile me up till I want to use your head as a volleyball, and your voice when you sing is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Want me to keep going?”

Tetsurou makes an extremely pathetic sound, crushing Sawamura’s shirt in his hands.

“In case you didn’t get the message, I really, really like you.” Another kiss, softly pressed right above his ear. “I like you even though you’re getting snot all over my shoulder right now. I like you even though, when I first saw you, I told myself I’d definitely never fall for your stupid smile and your long ass legs and everything else that made you so irritatingly hot. I’d probably like you even if you told me you were planning to sacrifice me to summon a demon right now. So -” He gently pushes Tetsurou away from him, and holds his cheeks in both hands, his gaze warm and tender and pleading. “I don’t care that you’re a shifter. At all. It’s - I hadn’t expected it, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised, but you’re still the same person to me. Okay?”

Tetsurou squeezes his eyes shut, still sniffling, as Sawamura reaches up to kiss his forehead. “Okay,” he whispers, something warm and light fluttering in his stomach.

“Okay. You wanna go get cleaned up? Your face is a mess.”

He chokes on a laugh, wiping at his face. “Yeah. Sorry about the snot on your shirt -”

“I don’t care about the snot on my shirt, I care about the snot on your face not being there anymore so I can kiss you properly.” Sawamura starts ushering him inside the apartment, ignoring his slack jaw. “Bathroom’s down there, last door on your left.”

He goes. He winces at his reflection as he steps in - his eyes are all red and puffy, his face is blotchy, he looks like a bride who’s been dumped on her wedding day or something. He blows his nose, washes his face, and cleans up as well as he can, still kind of reeling from what’s happened in the space of the last five minutes.

“You’re so lucky he likes you,” he mutters at his reflection. “He’s . . .” So many good words could come next, he thinks, because he’s such a goddamn good person. “He’s everything you ever wanted,” he snorts through the last of the tears, grinning at himself like an idiot. “You lucky, lucky bastard.”

When he finally leaves the bathroom it’s to find Sawamura leaning against the wall opposite waiting for him, wearing a different shirt.

“Hi,” he says, all low and soft and affectionate. “Better?”

Tetsurou goes to him like he’s a magnet, tugging him close by the wrists and leaning down to press their foreheads together.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Thank you. And, Sawamura -”

“Mmhm?”

“I really, _really_ like you too.”

“Good,” Sawamura breathes, and Tetsurou can hear the smile in his voice. “So can I finally kiss you?”

“ _Please,_ ” he says, and Sawamura’s mouth is on his and Sawamura’s hands are sliding into his hair. He takes a breath, curving into Tetsurou as his chest rises, pressing against him like he doesn’t want there to be a millimetre of space left between them. Tetsurou breathes with him, holding him tight, holding him close, left hand in the curve of his lower back as Sawamura reaches up to keep kissing him and right arm strong across his shoulders.

He nips at Sawamura’s lower lip and is rewarded by a quiet groan and Sawamura’s fingers curling in his hair. They break apart, chests heaving, and Tetsurou ducks to press his teeth gently into the side of his neck. That gets him a little “Ah-”, and holy shit, this night is going so much better than he thought it would -

He hears the front door open, hears the rustling of plastic and paper bags, and freezes.

“Daichi, I’m back,” Asahi’s voice calls. “Oh, is Kuroo still - ?”

Asahi rounds the corner, sees them, and freezes as well. There’s a moment of absolute silence before he squeaks out, “Sorry!” and dives into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Sawamura bursts out laughing against Tetsurou’s shoulder, and Tetsurou joins in, fully aware that Asahi can probably hear them from inside his room.

“Poor guy,” he gasps, wiping a tear from his eye. “I hope we didn’t scar him.”

“He’ll be fine,” Sawamura chuckles. “He’s tougher than he looks. But I think you gotta get going, it’s -” He checks his watch. “- 10:40.”

“Aw, and we were having such a good time,” Tetsurou mourns, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Tomorrow,” Sawamura says, pushing at his chest lightly. “You owe me a dinner.”

“You got it,” Tetsurou says, stepping back reluctantly. “It’s a date.”

Sawamura sways forward, kissing his jaw briefly before pulling back to smile at him like the sun.

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought, I love hearing any and all feedback! Hit me up [here](https://yaelathewordsmith.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr and [here](https://twitter.com/writer_yaela) on Twitter to chat or to check out my commission info ^.^


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